“Rush it? We’re husband and wife.”
“I know, but they’re delicate. I don’t want to disturb my dad too much, and anyway, it’s not like he’ll remember.”
“Still, I want to meet them whenever you’re ready.”
I smile despite myself. I love that he wants to get to know that side of me, but it feels strange, bringing him into that house. It’s like the rooms are too cramped for him, and I don’t want him to see how badly it hurts, being around my father. I want him to look at me like he does now, like I’m perfect and beautiful and incredible. He doesn’t need to see how small my world really has been.
“Soon,” I promise and get out of the car. I hurry to the stoop and pause to look back. He’s watching me and puts it in gear afterwaving. He drives off and my stomach twists, wishing I had the courage to call him back.
I want him to meet my parents. I really do, but I’m nervous about how it might change our relationship. Right now, he’s two weeks into fighting back against Fontana, starving them of payments, letting their financial troubles weaken them, and I don’t want something like my parents distracting him from that.
But the fact is, I can make a million excuses. I’m mostly afraid all the time, and I don’t even know why anymore.
I turn to let myself into the house, pausing to find my spare key, when a voice makes me stop.
“Deanna. We need to talk.”
I look up as Marco Carbone comes walking toward me.
He’s in jeans and a button down, looking like a retired office worker. His face is grim though and he’s clutching something dark in his hand.
It’s a gun, I realize.
I cover my mouth to keep from screaming as panic slams into my stomach.
He stops a few feet away. “Why do you look like you saw a ghost?”
“You scared me, that’s all.” I force myself to calm down even as sick bile fills my throat. “What’s going on, Mr. Carbone?”
“We can drop the formalities.” He gestures at me with the gun. His eyes are red-rimmed and lined with heavy bags. His pale skin’s sallow. He looks like he hasn’t slept. “Your husband hasn’tbeen as helpful as I’d like, and so I’m coming straight to you now.”
“I don’t know anything about your deal with him.”
“We both know that’s not true. You’re the brains behind the operation, aren’t you? I doubt Prime’s got enough gray matter in that head of his to dream up that delicious pipeline. No, I think you’re more important than you let on.”
“You’re so wrong.”
“I’m not.” He steps closer. “Where’s my money, Deanna?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“Stop lying to me.” His voice raises as he gets more agitated. “You’re fuckinglyingto me, and I don’t appreciate it. Where is the money?”
“Please, you’re freaking me out. Why don’t we sit down with Prime?—“
“I don’t want Prime!” he shouts in my face. The barrel of the gun jams into my hip. “I want you to tell me where my fucking money is, you worthless fucking cunt!”
I grunt in pain and back away, thumping into the door. “Please, Mr. Carbone?—“
“Say my real name you fucking bitch!” He hits me across the face with the gun. Pain flares in my mouth as I gasp and drop to a knee. His hand grips my hair and drags me back up. I groan, arching away. “Where is my god damn money?”
“Marco, I don’t know.” I lick my teeth and taste blood. I try not to cry but I can’t stop the tears. I’ve never been hit in the face before and it really hurt.
The door at my back opens. I turn in terror as my mother stands on the threshold, frowning at us in alarm. I start to tell her to get back inside, to lock the door, to call the cops—but Marco shoves me hard into her and we tumble together into the living room.
“There we go. That’s the welcome I wanted.” He follows inside and slams the door. He trains the gun on me as I try to help my mother to her feet.
“What’s going on? Oh god, are we being robbed?” Mom looks around in a panic, her hair disheveled. “We don’t have anything worth stealing!”